Sweet words, gentle touches
by Clariana
Summary: Jaime and Brienne never get together... Somehow I doubt they will. It's Valentine's day, someone had to do something about this. So I did.


Sweet words, gentle touches

He had handed her the sword given her a quest, one that was worthy of her. A quest for both of them, if truth be told. As soon as she had left his chambers in the White Sword Tower, the dread seized him. He would never see her again.

At first he told himself he did not care, she was a stubborn wench, an ugly mismatch of a woman and a warrior who had caused him no end of grief. She had some virtues, yes, she fought well, she was brave, loyal, honest… But obstinate as a barnyard mule, and dull to boot. She had angered him with her clumsy words and he, irate, had ordered her to leave.

He attempted to distract himself reading some of the chronicles in the White Book but after a time the stories there seemed to grow tedious, to merge into one. _It is not the past that matters, it is the present, the past is a turned page, it is dead… _He looked at the stump where his hand had once been. Cersei had called him a cripple… _A cripple_, that had always been the least insulting term she had used to refer to their brother Tyrion. _And now I am a cripple too._

She had changed out of her dress, she was just wearing roughspun breeches and a leather jerkin as usual. And the wrapped sword he had just given her strapped over her back.

"I was ungracious, I wish to make amends…"

She frowned at him over the horses back, it did not become her. "I have business…"

"But you are still here."

"Before I depart I wish to question anyone who may know something regarding Sansa Stark's whereabouts."

Once again he was struck by the good sense behind her obduracy. "I have told you all I know."

"I don't doubt that you have, but there may be others here in the city…"

"That will take you a few days."

Her mouth pursed slightly, "It will."

"And may well be pricey…"

She gestured towards the saddlebag. "I am sure you have already provided me with more than enough, _Ser_." She turned to the bay mare and continued brushing it.

"I think I preferred it when you addressed me as Kingslayer." That was met with silence. "In the meantime…" He needed to cut to the chase. "Two day's hence. At an hour past dusk meet me at..." He gave her the name of a well-known tavern in the Street of Steel. Just before leaving the stable he turned round "Ah, and wear the blue dress."

He could almost feel her scowl smarting on his back as he returned to the tower.

One of the inn's servants showed her up. He was looking out of the window and the activities of a certain lady outside some stables just opposite. She seemed to have a constant flow of customers. Something about this made him feel sad.

He turned around after the door had closed, attempting to dissemble his relief. He smiled seeing that under her cloak she was wearing the blue dress.

"Wench".

She snorted. "Kingslayer."

He laughed and held up his golden hand, "What do you think?" He asked.

Her brow furrowed but she kept her silence. "Do you like it?"

"No."

Well at least that much was clear. A sense of relief flooded through him. "I don't either, truth be told, it is, after all, just a lump of metal, even if it is gold... But it may impress some..." He was gabbling. He should stop. He pulled up his sleeve to begin fiddling with the buckle holding it in place and cursed softly under his breath when it proved to be trickier than he had anticipated.

Without his asking, she paced over to his side and began to work the strap herself with her large strong fingers. He watched her profile bent over his wrist while she concentrated on the task. She smelt slightly of soap. Her face looked scrubbed, her short fair lank hair had more lustre to it than he could recollect. It was as if something had taken him over, he ran the fingers of his right hand gently over her cheek. She started.

"I apologise" he said.

She looked at him warily for a fair while, he tried to keep his face as still as possible, and then wordless returned to what she was doing. When they at last managed to loosen the thing, he placed it very carefully on the table and sat down beside it.

It was a large room was used as a dining hall for the local blacksmith and armourer's guilds as attested by several ornate plaques on its walls. They sat just the two of them opposite each other at the top of the long table.

She inquired after his new position as head of the Kingsguard.

"It goes well enough, I suppose," He replied, "They need to be knocked into shape. Some of them at least..."

The first dish was pheasant slow cooked in arbour red with long green beans served on trenchers of fresh-baked bread.

This was followed by a more general inquiry, to which he simply shook his head dolefully and said, "Horrible."

While they ate between mouthfuls she told him a story. She told him how when she had first joined Renly's entourage she was flattered and almost overwhelmed by the attentions many of her fellow knights bestowed on her. "... and then I discovered they had a wager…"

Her face was hard, her eyes were fixed on the table. "The pot had reached a very large amount… So many and more of the knights were particularly eager to bed me, take my maidenhood… then discard me, no doubt."

Jaime thought of Tyrion, and that crofter's wench, what was her name, Tysha? How that had hurt and rankled with his younger brother to the extent that it may have led to the recent deaths of both his son and his father… But once pride is injured… _Best not to think too much on Tyrion_, he warned himself. For a few moments he gazed at his stump. "What did you do?"

She looked at him and smiled showing her large teeth. "The melee at Bitterbridge…"

"Oh, the melee... Tourney's do have their uses…" he chuckled. "I trust you served them well."

"I did... I believe Robin Potter has a nasty scar to this day where I broke his helm in two."

"Brienne..." He said as they bought in the dessert, fragrant apples fried in batter smothered with clotted cream. At least the wench had enough sense to keep her peace until the last server had departed and had closed the door behind him.

"Ser?"

He couldn't bring himself to ask what he really wanted to. "Are you enjoying this meal?"

"It was good." Her plate was scraped clean.

"Why don't you have some wine, it is excellent here... Ah, I forget you do not drink wine..."

"I have been known to... but not when I have duties to fulfil."

"Such as escorting me, you mean?" He laughed, "I was not the most docile or biddable of hostages, was I?"

"You were not, no. I think I shall have some wine, if only half a cup."

He meticulously poured her the amount she had requested and watched as she watered it down from another carafe. To his surprise, she followed that with another.

"Brienne..."

"Yes?"

"Would you let me kiss you?"

Her cheeks suddenly reddened but she didn't say a word, just looked at him and took up her cup to drink again.

"Oh, 'tis no matter, for..."

"Yes." She said putting the cup down.

He paused. "Have you ever been kissed?" He asked.

She toyed with the empty cup. "Yes... well... No. Not as you mean."

They both got to their feet at the same time and smiled at the coincidence. He walked over to her quickly.

"Before you change your mind, Brienne of Tarth." He said propping up her chin with his index finger. As soon as their mouths touched she wrapped her arms around him.

The kiss was as sweet as any he had shared with Cersei and he asked himself why he would have thought that it would be any different. He suddenly realised that it had been a long time since Cersei had seemed to need him; he had always needed her, like he needed food, drink, air, even sunshine... but it was no longer reciprocal. Brienne, on the other hand, plain though she was, seemed to share that urge. He was aroused. As he broke their kiss it dawned on him that perhaps his need was not so much for Cersei, but to be loved.

The wench, blushing fiercely now, turned away from him and for a moment covered her eyes with her arm.

"Brienne..." He was still stunned by this sudden awareness.

"I should go." She groped for her cloak. "This was a mistake and no doubt tomorrow you will see it as such."

"I made no mistake."

"So you say."

He took a step towards her. "I am not the one who is mistaken here..."

"Let me pass, Jaime. You have no business with a freak such as myself."

Jaime blocked her way and held up the empty sleeve where his right hand had once been. "I am also a freak now, my lady, such as you say you are."

She stopped in front of him. There were tears on her face. He hadn't meant to make her cry... Merely indulge his feelings... _His strange lust, mayhap._ For the second time that evening, he touched her cheek, marvelling that her tears could be for a wretch such as he. She did not move away.

He seized his resolve. "We shall find a bedchamber, upstairs perhaps..."

He opened the door and hollered down the stairwell, a serving man appeared below. Jaime glanced at the wench. She seemed stunned, rooted to the spot. _All well and good_, he would take that as acquiescence. "We require a bedchamber. Now."

The man who had a very large wart on the left side of his nose, smiled ingratiatingly. "Of course, ser."

He clasped Brienne's hand tugging her upwards, following the serving man. They reached a small landing. The servant pulled out a key and unlocked one of the doors. Jaime strode into the room, inspected the bed for cleanliness, lifting the covers to glance at the linens and sauntered over to the window. "Is this the best room you have?"

"The best room in the Street of Steel, ser, so it is."

Brienne stepped cautiously into the room, the man, obviously seeing her up close for the first time, looked her up and down and his mouth fell open. Jaime was upon him before he had a chance to close it. He went flying.

"Do not look at my lady thus..."

"Jaime..."

The man cringed, rubbing the back of his head. Jaime pulled out a handful of coins from his belt pouch and scattered them on the floor.

"This is for the bedchamber. You don't know who we are. We were never here... Neither were you..." He added as an afterthought. "And should I set eyes on you again... Best not be here tomorrow."

The servant crawled about the floor picking up the coins, once he had gathered every last one he pulled himself to his feet and closed the door quietly behind him.

"People stare at me all the time, Jaime."

"Not in my presence they don't" He took a deep breath. "Now."

He began to unlace his jerkin. She crossed the room to help him but not as speedily, he noted, as before, she fumbled quite a lot too. Once he was rid of that garment he yanked his tunic off over his head.

She looked at him, stripped from the waist up. Her eyes were wide, she blinked. He was certain she liked what she saw.

"Your turn," he said briskly.

Brienne turned her back to him, head bowed. He attacked the first knot, glad that these ties at least seemed amenable to a single hand.

"Do you remember the baths in Harrenhal?" He whispered.

Her head dropped lower her feet shuffled. "I do... Every day." She mumbled.

"I do as well," he said quietly. He stroked her cheek again, and then kissed the nape of her neck... Several times, she shuddered wrapping her arms around herself. He wound his right arm around her waist and rested his face against her shoulder. Her skin was warm and soft against his.

She turned round towards him and let the blue dress drop to the floor standing only in her smallclothes. His wench was large and ungainly but comely after all, her eyes were beautiful. _And she could take almost any man in a fight..._

"I also remember, Brienne," he said as he untied his breeches, studying her for her reaction from under his lashes "how you looked after me when I was... Indisposed..."

"That was... My duty..." She looked away.

"Why did I think you would say that?" Naked but ever the gallant, he held out his hand. "Come." And led her over to the bed. "There shall be no duty here... Only pleasure."

Side-by side they embraced again and kissed again. He managed to entice her to remove her remaining smallclothes, slipping them over her thighs between kisses and caresses. He found her diffidence very touching.

He fondled her breasts, closing his eyes, feeding on her quiet moans. There was a lull, perhaps he had fallen asleep, he had been up late the previous night, practising swordplay with ser Ilyn. Suddenly with a flurry of movement he found himself below Brienne who had pinioned his left hand above his head.

"Wh...?"

His question was cut short by a fierce, grinding, passionate kiss that left them both panting.

Seated across his waist she kissed his eyelids and his cheeks, avid and frenziedly, then his chin, his jaw, the side of his neck...

He wasn't sure. He wasn't sure he liked this position, that it was something he could take to but after all, what did he know about himself really? He had only ever bedded Cersei and only ever heard others talk, for what that was worth... _Which was precisely nothing._

"Brienne..." she was kissing his chest.

And then she reached behind her and grasped him. For a very brief moment it was as if he had been clubbed on the head, he felt he would explode... Giving hurried thanks to whatever powers there may be, he recovered sufficiently to gasp, "Wench! Brienne..."

Her blue, blue eyes looked down at him interrogatively from under the locks hanging in disarray around her face. "Brienne..." He said with more gentleness this time, "We should... I need..."

She released him, shifted and lay beside him, toying with his hair.

"Thank you." He took a very deep breath, "This might hurt..."

"Jaime, I can endure pain."

"I know that, what I meant was that this time will be less pleasurable than those following it..." Brienne blinked. As he said this, his hand sneaked towards her seeking out her warm centre. She flinched slightly as he touched her there but did not move away as he had feared. "Look at me as I do this." He ordered aware that he was being cruel by forcing her modesty.

"Ah!" She exclaimed.

He climbed on top of her.

When the pleasure overcame him, he hadn't expected to say her name out loud.

"The night King Renly wed Margeary Tyrell, I cried..." She said.

Jaime wondered whether the wench realised that Renly had much preferred Mageary's brother Loras to Mageary herself. He decided it would be both cruel and unnecessary to enlighten her on the matter.

"You have no reason to be jealous." He said considering Mageary's current plight, widowed for the second time in as many years and not yet twenty.

"I wasn't jealous, just... Sad, very sad."

"Well you have no reason to be sad, Brienne. You've had me now, what a prize _I_ am..." He gestured with his handless arm.

"You do yourself a disservice, Jaime, you _are_ a prize."

"And you, Brienne, are worth all the sapphires in Tarth"

Her forehead wrinkled. "But there are _no_ sapphires in Tarth, Jaime... _You_ invented that story to prevent..." She tailed off.

He smiled. "If there _were_ sapphires in Tarth..." He amended solemnly, "You would be worth every single one of them, Brienne."

He woke some time later when it was still dark to find his arms tight around her and cradling her against his chest. She was snoring very quietly. He smiled at the sound. He stroked her hair lightly with his one remaining hand so as not to wake her. He would have to change his plans, of course, send someone else to search for the Stark girl. He was certain he could get the Lady of Tarth to remain in Kings Landing now, absolutely certain. He would have to find something for her to do, though, and somewhere to hide her... He needed to think...

He woke again, it was light, he rolled over on the bed, extended his arm... The place beside him was empty. Empty and cold. Cursing his awkwardness, he pulled on and laced up his clothing as best he could. This took him some time. _Damn her, stupid, stubborn, obstinate, obdurate, mulish wench that she was..._

He knew it was too late, knew it but nonetheless... He almost fell head over heels as he hastened down the stairs buckling on his sword as he went.

Down on the ground floor the sour-faced innkeeper's wife was not very sympathetic, the lady left at dawn, she said shrugging, it was now two hours before noon...

He was in a daze, he felt something clutching at his chest something crowding out his vision... When someone tugged his clothing from behind, he half-drew his sword... It was a child just a child, a mucky-faced urchin. Panic danced in the boy's eyes, he was staring at the blade, he thrust a hand towards Jaime and was soon as Jaime had grasped the small parchment, he took to his heels.

"Dear Jaime

I have left to do your bidding. Pray to the seven that I find Sansa, that is the least I owe Lady Stark.

As for what happened last night, it was surely a mistake. We would do well to put it behind us, I think, and not speak of it again.

Yours

Brienne of Tarth"

THE END


End file.
